


A Year in the Life

by MaraudingManaged



Series: Musical Maraudings [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Fairest of the Rare's Sing Me A Rare 2019, M/M, Mild Smut, Rare Pairings, Romance, Songfic, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-10-19 14:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20658560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaraudingManaged/pseuds/MaraudingManaged
Summary: It was strange, Cedric thought as he careened backward, that his life hadn’t flashed before his eyes. He’d always heard, from hushed Auror conversations with his parents, that those who’d looked death in the face remembered everything they’d ever done wrong, everything they’d ever done right… all in the blink of an eye.He didn't.





	A Year in the Life

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Sing Me a Rare: The Soundtracks, hosted by Fairest of the Rare group on Facebook. I chose the song "Seasons of Love" from RENT and the character Cedric Diggory - the Admins kindly gave me the option of 3 other characters to pick from and I went with James Potter.
> 
> * Much love to my Alpha, [JLPierre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JLPierre), who got me started, was just as excited as I was about the prospect of this story, and believed it could be done.  
* Love eternal to my Beta [Pureblood_Muggle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pureblood_Muggle), who kept a remarkable cool listening to me as I went entirely off my rocker finishing this thing, and made sure it was pretty to present to you all. 
> 
> Now: on with the show! Please note that this has since been edited to add additional scenes which, for the sake of word-count, had to be cut.

_525,600 minutes_  
_ 525,000 moments so dear_  
_ 525,600 minutes  
How do you measure, measure a year?_

The moment between the flash of green from the man’s wand and the next when he was dead was an eternity, and no time at all. 

It was strange, Cedric thought as he careened backward, that his life hadn’t flashed before his eyes. He’d always heard, from hushed Auror conversations with his parents, that those who’d looked death in the face remembered everything they’d ever done wrong, everything they’d ever done right… all in the blink of an eye.

He didn’t think of his past, or his present where the man named Pettigrew killed him with a practiced _ Avada_. Didn’t examine the fact that he was sure Pettigrew was supposed to be dead, and not a Death Eater. He didn’t even think of the last year - which surprised him, considering there were plenty of things he could regret. All his decisions led him to this moment, when his heart had stopped and his body was devoid of the air it needed to keep on living. 

Instead, Cedric thought of the future. He hoped he would have been Head Boy next year - it would have made his parents proud. He would _ certainly _have celebrated his eighteenth birthday in Muggle London getting utterly pissed with his best friends, term-time be damned - sneaking out of the castle to celebrate what the Muggles considered their coming of age and experience the occasion in both worlds. Maybe he would feel, for once, like he fitted in. 

_ I might even have been able to tell Mikey McManus just how good he looked in his Quidditch uniform_, he supposed dejectedly - not that it really mattered anyway. 

Because there would never be any Muggle London; no eighteenth birthday to celebrate. No Head Boy, no graduation, no group of friends so close he could call them brothers.

In retrospect, as the last gush of air escaped his lungs and his muscles relaxed - now useless entirely - the fact he was thinking at all when he was already dead should have been the first clue that something wasn’t quite right. 

* * *

  
_ In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee_  
_ In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife_  
_ In 525,600 minutes_  
_ How do you measure a year in the life?_

_ Am I… breathing? _

Cedric wasn’t sure if his eyes were open or shut - they were entirely blinded by bright white. Yet he was certain the rushing _ whomp-whomp-whomp-whomp _in his ears was his pulse, and the ghost of damp, hot air across his upper lip from his nose was his own breath. 

“Tha’ can get up, thi’knows,” an amused voice sliced through his existential panic - prickling his subconscious with enough curiosity that it paused the rapid wand-fire of his thoughts.

“I -” Cedric began, only to be cut off by a hacking cough ripping through his chest, forcing him to sit up and _ breathe_. The moment he did so, the blinding light behind his lids receded, and he could open his sleep-sticky eyes at last.

The view that greeted him was not what he expected - if he even knew what to expect at all.

“... Huh.” 

He was in the rolling grassland behind his house - a perfectly sensible place for his time in the afterlife to begin, he thought with a delirious sort of understanding - and yet he _ wasn’t _ there at all. The colours were strangely muted, and lacked the natural animation of the world he knew so well. It was still - unnaturally, unnervingly still - and silent; there was no chorus of songbirds to greet him, no symphony of grass blades, no sighing winds. If this was the afterlife, Cedric considered, it had a lot to answer for. 

“Tha’s dead, just t’be clear,” the wizened voice crackled; wry and entirely too condescending for Cedric’s liking, yet still irritatingly familiar in its tone and accent in a way that made his brain itch as he tried to work it out.

“Yes, I’d gathered, thanks. An Avada to the chest does have the habit of ending one’s life whether one likes it or not,” he snapped, angrier than he could ever recall being before. _ Unless you were Harry-fucking-Potter, the boy who just didn’t seem to die, _ he raged in his own head. 

“Mind thi’tone, boy! Tha’father didn’t drag thi’up t’be a smug little shit. Just ‘cause tha’s kicked t’proverbial bucket and joined’t choir invisible doesn’t mean thi’can start developing an attitude unbecoming of a Diggory!”

“Oi!” Cedric stood sharply and spun on his heel, searching for the source of the voice; incessed and, frankly, offended at the words which stabbed a little too close to home. 

“Oh, hush thi’griping, lad. It shan’t get thi’ anywhere and tha’s got more important things t’be doing with thi’time, don’t thi’reckon?”

Cedric grimaced, somehow thoroughly chastised by an invisible entity. “Well, unless you’re here to say I’m off to Hell, then I don’t… I’m not, am I?” He spoke to the sky.

The voice chuckled. It was oddly reassuring - warmer, less stern, more comforting, to hear the gentle amusement beneath his words. “Hell would eat thi’alive, boy. But no, no. There’s sommat else for thi’yet.” 

In the far distance, speeding towards him across the fields at a somewhat alarming rate, was a figure. Dark at first, a mere pinprick of ink on parchment, but it grew paler as it drew closer; no longer a shapeless blob but the body of a man. Cedric gaped; the accent, the stern words, the ability to shrink his ego down to size triggering his memory at last. “Grandfather?” 

The man was stooped over a stick, both hands clasping the elegantly carved handle as his grey hair streaked with gold glinted in the not-sun. Cedric didn’t know whether to hug him or tell him to bugger right off. The thick Yorkshire accent was comforting and familiar, like a hug, but at the same time felt distant: both well-known and strange in equal measure. He’d been barely into his seventh year of life when he’d died - old age and infirmities from years as an Auror taking him as kindly as any death could. He wondered why he’d been presented with his grandfather, of all people, as he left life behind. 

Indecisive, Cedric waved awkwardly. Rheumy blue eyes examined Cedric before indicating towards the old swing beneath the horse-chestnut tree that stood the test of time and every magic Cedric’s tantrums threw at it.

“I remember this swing… I thought it broke when I was a kid,” Cedric mused out loud as he sat down on the creaking wood gingerly, wincing as it bowed in the middle under his weight. 

His grandfather had no such compunctions, and threw himself down with a huff. “This tree and that swing’s as old as me, aye, lad. But this is thi’dream, not mine, so if tha’wants my old swing tha’can sodding well have it.” He drew from his pocket a long wooden pipe, and proceeded to pack it with tobacco from a small wooden box - though it lacked the pungent aroma that always lingered in Cedric’s memories of him. 

Cedric fidgeted, kicking his heels against the dry, greyish-brown earth beneath him. Seeing his grandfather, long dead, brought his position into uncomfortably stark relief. “So, what now?” 

“Well, reckon that’s tha’call,” his grandfather shrugged, lifting his stick to point out into the far distance. “Tha’can move on - go t’whatever’s waiting for thi’. Or tha’can have another crack at that final wish of thi’s.”

Cedric blinked. “Beg pardon?” 

His grandfather chuckled, dry and raspy from too many years of pipe smoking. “Tha wanted t’be able to spend time wi’real friends. Do things every teenage lad wants t’do. Can’t do that where tha’came from, not wi’that old lunatic back from his own too-shallow pit… so we’d ship thi’somewhere else for a bit. Give thi’ a year to make thi’peace.”

“He… what, You-Know-Who? That was actually him they were talking to? But Dad said -” 

“Tha’dad’s full of hot air and nowt else. Aye, it were’t Dark Lord Voldemort. By now-” his grandfather checked his pocketwatch. “Aye, by now he’ll be back t’his full form, near as damnit, and most of his full power an’all.” 

Cedric’s stomach turned, and he immediately thought of Harry Potter. He was just a kid, who seemed to be caught up in things far bigger than any fourteen-year-old ought to be involved in. Surely Potter deserved a second chance at peace more than he did?

“Why me?” Cedric blurted, and the old man rolled his eyes to the sky. 

“Tha’s own sodding nobility got thi’dead, Cedric. Honourable though it were, it were daft. What’s thi’got betwixt thi’lugs? Cloth?” He reached out to pinch Cedric’s ear firmly, and he yelped. “Sometimes there’s nary rhyme nor reason for it. Sometimes them that listen in can give us a second crack. And it seems like it’s thi’lucky day, lad, if tha’chooses t’see it that way.” 

“But… where would I go? Or when?”

His grandfather shrugged. “I dunno, do I? It’s tha’year; nowt t’do wi’me. But it’d be somewhere a’reet, I reckon. Somewhere where thi’ can get pissed as a newt and get up t’some mischief tha’s never had chance t’so far. Or tha’could choose t’stay. No shame in that, neither.” His grandfather lit his pipe, blowing a scentless cloud into the still air where it hovered unnaturally, no breeze to disturb the plume.

Cedric remained quiet. To have another year? A year with no pressure from his father to make the very best grades, to be Head Boy... because his efforts wouldn’t matter anyway. 

“How will I know when it’s time to come back?” 

His grandfather offered a wan smile. “Oh, tha’ll know, lad.” He reached out with a hand knotted by time and age, and patted Cedric’s shoulder before standing. “Best t’keep count though, aye? A year from t’day. Anyroad,” Obadiah Diggory stood, stretching his crooked back. “Reckon that’s me done. Live well, lad. Live full.” 

Cedric blinked once, twice; but before he had the chance to reply, the hand resting on his shoulder cracked him directly upside the head, and he pitched forward into the black. 

* * *

  
_ 525,600 minutes  
525,000 journeys to plan_

“Here, Pads… he looks like Amos, doesn’t he? Reckon he’s a rogue Diggory?” A voice, slightly tinged with a West Country lilt, filtered through the ringing in Cedric’s ears; a high-pitched whine that only grew louder as he roused himself into consciousness, and drove a migraine hard into his brain.

“Nah - don’t think there are any Diggorys his age,” another voice spoke, this one far smoother and more cultured - Cedric would recognise that ‘pureblood mouth’ anywhere.

“Could you possibly keep the noise down?” Cedric croaked, bringing a hand to cover his eyes against the glaring heat and brightness of the sun - only serving to intensify the pick-axe in his skull. He felt nauseous and dizzy, but he could feel the sure thundering of his heart: _ a-live, a-live, a-live_.

Still shading his face, Cedric forced his lids open and saw an impossibly pretty boy. Long black waves surrounded a chiseled jaw and cheekbones. Startling silvery eyes, wide with curiosity and edged in sooty lashes, examined him. “Alright, mate?” He asked cautiously - the owner of the silky pureblood tone Cedric identified earlier.

The trance was abruptly broken by the most _ interesting _ boy Cedric had ever seen, shoving the other out of the way. Intelligent hazel eyes scrutinised him from behind wire-framed glasses, one eyebrow raised, lips pursed. A familiar expression - a familiar face - though Cedric couldn’t place it. His dark hair was an ungodly mess of spikes surrounding his face; the sun behind his head like a halo, the shadow of stubble on his jaw emphasised in contrast. “Hi. Do we need to take you to Mungo’s?” 

“No!” Cedric sat far too quickly in his panic, and his head collided with the boy’s face with a dull crack, and the pureblood boy laughed. “Oh, bugger, I’m sorry -” 

The boy waved his hand, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s fine - you’re not on the run, are you? It’s just, our wards are pretty blood strong -” 

Cedric shook his head immediately, making the world spin harder. “No! Well, not really. I _ was _, but then I think… it’s a bit unbelievable actually, but I’m fairly certain I - there was the Triwizard Tournament at school and I was in the maze, and the cup was a Portkey and then You-Know-Who was there… and then I saw my Grandad Obie, who is definitely dead so I must have…but I don’t know where I am, so if you could just…?” His mouth spat out the thoughts hastily as soon as they came, and the two sets of eyes before him grew wide as they exchanged a nervous glance.

“Look, calm down,” the messy-haired boy said soothingly, the way someone might talk to a spooked creature or small child, and he looked concerned. “I really do reckon you need to see a Healer. The Tri-Wiz hasn’t been held in a hundred years - longer, even.” 

“Yeah,” the other boy agreed, brows drawn tightly. “But you said - sorry if I’ve got my trees wrong, it’s been a while - your _ Grandad _ Obie? You don’t mean - you _ can’t _ mean Obadiah _ Diggory _?” 

“I - well, yes,” Cedric paused, uncertain eyes darting between the two of them, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “I _ did _say it’s unbelievable.”

“Right,” the interesting boy said, pushing the thin frames up his nose. “I’m James Potter, and this idiot here is Sirius Black. And I think you need to start at the beginning, because the only grandson old Obadiah has lives just down the way - and is still shitting in nappies.”

Cedric blinked. James Potter. _ Sirius Black. _ Merlin, Helga, and all the Founders. 

Now he knew, he could see the astounding resemblance immediately - except for the eyes, and a sort of softness Harry Potter had which James didn’t.  
  
He’d heard stories from his dad - he was sure _ anyone _ with parents who went to school with the infamous four friends and Lily Potter had been regaled with all sorts of tales of their mischief, revelry and, ultimately, heroic sacrifice. 

Or their treachery. 

_ Why _ had the powers commanding his fate seen fit to send him _ here?_ It didn’t make _ sense._

“So, what’s your name?” Sirius prompted, and the words tumbled from his mouth like a waterfall he couldn’t stop as he drowned in his confusion. 

“I’m Cedric - Cedric Diggory. And I think I’m from the future.” 

Both James and Sirius coughed as one, clearly incredulous. “Well, Cedric-Diggory-from-the-future - I think you need to explain that one to us,” James said weakly, and Cedric swallowed once, nodding.

“Well, it started when I died…” Cedric began, hesitantly at first but gaining more confidence as the words became easier. He left out the important names, but as best he could, he explained the tournament, the moments leading up to his death, and what he’d seen after. “... And then he told me I’d know when it was time, but that I had a year. Can you believe it? A final thought about wishing I could have gone out on the lash in Muggle London somehow got me to the 1970s.” Cedric threw is hands up, Sirius sat back with disbelief, and James whistled.

“You know who we need to speak to? Dumbledore. You can’t just hang about _ homeless _for a year. You may as well start school in September and see the year out.” 

“Padfoot, you’re brilliant. C’mon, Digsy - I mean, Diggory. Sorry, nicknames are a sort of habit.” James flushed pink, but Cedric felt a grin stretch out on his face despite a healthy dose of fear. 

“Digsy’s fine.” 

“Good.” James stood, and then held out his hand to Cedric - and as naturally as breathing, he took it. 

It was rough - calloused from wand-use and Quidditch - but his fingers were long, agile, and gripped Cedric’s own tightly as he hauled him to his feet. Without another word, without any doubt, James began to drag Cedric through a vast orchard and towards a manor house of bleached sandstone and dark wooden beams. 

“Mum! Visitor! Can you get Betty to make her good hot chocolate?” Sirius hollered as he strode through the heavy oak door into a pale blue and gold room, and Cedric was sure he heard a tired sigh and a quiet ‘Yes, dear,’ echo down the corridor from the cosy sitting room he’d found himself in. 

_ Mum_? Cedric’s confusion must have been written on his face, because James laughed lowly next to him. “He’s lived with us since last summer. His parents - you’ve heard of the Blacks in your time, yeah? They’re… not good. They tried to force him to join old Mouldyshorts, and, well, Pads wasn’t particularly feeling it.”

_ But… Black had been a Death Eater, hadn't he? _ Last year they’d had Dementors invading the grounds over the sodding debacle of his escape. But running away from home because you didn’t want to be one? 

Nothing made sense. He didn’t understand _ anything._

“Something the matter, Ced?” James asked curiously, giving the hand he hadn’t let go of a squeeze, and Cedric shook his head. 

“Just a ‘time’ thing.” 

James’ eyes widened. “Oh, shit. Mum, c’mere!” James called and a willowy, graceful woman entered the room. She had hair as dark as her son’s, but it was flashed through with a steely silver that was mimicked in her eyes as she raised a single dark brow. 

“Indoor voice, James. Welcome - I thought I felt something in the wards. Goodness, aren’t you familiar - are you a relative of the Diggorys? You are the absolute mirror of Lucretia. Dorea Potter - it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Cedric panicked. What could he say? What _ should _ he say? It was one thing telling the boys who were, by all rights, about to be mostly as dead as he was in a few short years. But someone who’d known his mum? “Er -” 

“Yeah, Mum. It’s a bit - look, we need to speak to Professor Dumbledore. Is there any way you can, y’know… it’s quite, er, time-sensitive. This is Cedric. ” James gestured vaguely towards the fireplace that dominated the room and Mrs. Potter tilted her head. 

“Oh, I see.” 

Cedric wondered if she actually did see as she knelt before the fireplace, glancing back at him occasionally as she spoke in hurried tones with the Headmaster. 

“He’s coming through. He said that your name appeared in the book too soon - do you know what that means?” 

Cedric nodded, still unable to speak. James never let go of his hand - even when Albus Dumbledore, with a significantly shorter beard and the occasional streak of red, emerged from the fireplace in deep amethyst robes. 

"Cedric Diggory," he began, alarmingly blue eyes twinkling. "I didn't expect to see you quite so soon. Now! Dorea, my dear - is there a room where we could speak privately?" He gestured to Cedric, beckoning him forward. 

"Of course, Albus. If you would like to use Charlus' study? He's in the office today."

"Splendid, splendid. And a spot of tea, perhaps? Or maybe something with a little more of a kick, I think. It looks like poor Mr. Diggory may need it." Dumbledore chuckled, and took lazy steps towards the room Mrs. Potter had indicated to. 

Cedric turned to stare at James, who looked vaguely amused at the panic Cedric knew must be lining his face. "You'll be fine, Digsy. Go." James squeezed his hand, firm and comforting, before letting him go and giving him a gentle nudge towards the door. 

"Okay," Cedric breathed out a huff of air, and followed the Headmaster into the depths of the manor house he didn't know - the ghost of James Potter's hand still warming his fingertips as he went. 

* * *

_ 525,600 minutes  
_ _ How do you measure the life of a woman or man? _

The problem with his ‘time-thing’, as James had taken to calling it, was that it made time around him do very strange things whenever he was starting to enjoy his time at the Potter manor. It had been somewhat of a relief to know that he didn't really need to be all that secretive about it - Dumbledore sincerely doubted he would come to any harm, and spending most of his year at Hogwarts would mean the old Headmaster could keep an eye on him. 

_ Blink_, and he was in the library - researching anything he could to do with death and time magic. So far, the only information he’d found was to do with a Veil in the Department of Mysteries, once used for executions. 

_Blink_, and James was sprawled across the chair opposite him, chatting about being Head Boy and his friends, Moony and Wormtail, who made up the infamous Marauders. Sirius was laid on the floor holding a book above his head in an attempt to fathom just how Cedric got there in the first place. 

_ Blink,_ and Sirius was out with a girl called Marlene, leaving James to lounge with him as they listened to the radio. 

_ Blink _ \- cooking together, somehow ending up covered in flour from head to toe. A flush when Cedric suggested they should go and shower, only to have to correct himself in stuttered apologies that he meant _ separately, _ and not together. A wink from James as he sauntered out, peeling his t-shirt off as he went, revealing an expanse of toned skin and a trail of dark hair leading into the waistband of his tight jeans.

_ Blink _ \- a casual comment that James’ first kiss was a bloke called Gideon in the Quidditch changing rooms. 

_ Blink, _ and Cedric admitted that he’d only gone to the Yule Ball with Cho Chang because she’d asked him and he didn’t know how to say no.

_ Blink _ \- a knock on Cedric’s bedroom door just as he got out of the shower, James poking his head through as Cedric hastily wrapped a towel around his waist. “Just after that book on the Veil,” he muttered as he passed Cedric, their hands brushing as he leaned over to grab the book from the other side of his bed. Cedric tried very hard not to stare at James’ arse, and failed. 

_ Blink _ \- the dawning horror when James said his other friends were called Moony and Wormtail, and his fear when Cedric bolted for the bathroom to throw up. The hand on his back rubbing soothing circles, knowing better than to ask once the words ‘time-thing’ left his lips. 

_ Blink _ \- midnight hot chocolate with James and Sirius. _ Blink, _ and Sirius was telling him he liked Cedric more than he did Evans, and he was glad James had shut up about her. _ Blink _, and Mrs. Potter brought him a stack of school books with a note from Professor Dumbledore that his place in Hufflepuff was assured for the year.

_Blink._  
_ Blink.  
Blink._

_ Blink, _ and he was boarding the Hogwarts express with a flutter of nerves that weren’t eased when James introduced him to his friends. “Digsy, this is Moony, Wormtail - we told you about them, remember? Petey, Remus, say ‘hi’ to Digsy. He’s the future-boy I wrote to you about.” 

There was a chorus of greetings as Peter said a nervous ‘hello’, followed by an exhaustec grunt from Remus. Cedric tried very hard not to squeak ‘_ Professor Lupin _’ in response, so settled for a nod and an awkward smile instead. 

He didn’t look at the boy called Wormtail for the whole of the journey - he couldn’t without wanting to vomit. Instead, he leaned against the window and took solace in the moment when James leaned against him, a light snore escaping his lips. 

_ Blink, _ and the train arrived at Hogsmeade station. James was dizzy with glee as he directed first year students towards Hagrid - fresher of face and shorter of beard - before bounding over to the carriages where Cedric, Remus, Peter and Sirius waited for him. 

A girl with flame-red hair watched them, head tilted, brows drawn in a frown before she clambered into her own carriage. _ Lily,_ he thought, as James excitedly explained he was going to have his own private dormitory. His eyes didn’t leave Cedric’s as he spoke, and he was suddenly very glad for the dark that settled in as his cheeks burned.

_ Blink,_ and they were approaching the castle in a throng of chattering, hugging, laughing students. “Welcome to Hogwarts - again - Cedric Diggory,” James announced proudly, gesturing to the imposing, welcoming doors of the castle. His hazel eyes twinkled as he turned on them, a bright, charming smile capturing his full mouth. Cedric tore his eyes away from his face and busied himself with his robes, but James caught his wrist and dragged him forward towards the grand entryway with exuberance - unmitigated joy was painted on his face, lighting James from the inside out. “And as soon as we’re settled in, we’ll start planning our first grand outing of 7th Year. Muggle London, wasn’t it? When’s your birthday again?” 

“Oh! Erm, the 27th of October.” 

"Brilliant! I've only been to Muggle London a few times, should be a right laugh." Sirius crowed, patting Cedric on the back so hard he lurched forward, and the slight boy named Peter laughed a little nastily as Cedric felt his face heat again. "Oh, Digsy, did you know, we're known around here as a little bit of a team of pranksters. Our Jamesie here might be Head Boy this year, but it won't stop us from having a bit of fun, will it mate?" Sirius crowed. 

"Not on your life, Pads," James beamed. "Hey, Digsy, you'll have to let us in the loop - Hufflepuff's the only common room we've not been in because the badgers tend to be a bit... protective. Reckon you can sneak us in for a look about?" 

"Erm, I mean, probably? It's not really that interesting." 

"Cedric," Remus, who had been quiet for much of the day, spoke up with a hoarse laugh he remembered well from the days when he had been taught by the man the boy before him would eventually become. "Everything is interesting when you're James Potter and Sirius Black."

"Too bloody right! Now come on, let's go in. The feast's about to start and I'm starving!" 

It was infectious, that joy. It created a warmth in Cedric’s stomach he hadn’t felt since he’d last seen Mikey McManus in his Quidditch gear. He was helpless to do anything other than stagger after the boy into the welcoming glow, his friends following close behind with cackles of laughter and whispered plans, only half-formed. 

If only he knew who it belonged to: Hogwarts itself, his easy inclusion into their circle of friends, or simply James Potter himself. 

_Blink - _"Mr. Diggory?" A stern voice interrupted his staring at the back of James Potter's head in Transfiguration, and he whipped his head around to see Professor McGonagall staring at him with a raised brow, directly by his desk. 

"Ah, yes, Professor?" 

"Whilst I am sure Mr. Potter is _deeply_ fascinating, do try to keep up. The definition of an Animagus, if you will, and how it differs from a human transfiguration."

Snickers from behind him indicated that Sirius and Remus also found it entirely hilarious, and James' head whipped 'round to glance at him over his shoulder, a small smile tilting his lips in a crooked grin that was far, far too endearing. 

Cedric's face flamed, but he managed to stutter out an answer anyway which seemed to please the witch enough for her to award five points to Hufflepuff, "Which would have been ten, if not for your inattention." She said pointedly. 

He avoided James and his friends for the rest of the day. 

_Blink, _and Cedric was lounging before the lake in mid-September, reading a book in the slowly dimming light as he took in the last few rays of the early autumn sun, which still had a little heat to them. 

"Ced! Merlin _fuck_, I've been looking for you everywhere!" James skidded to a halt beside him, pebbles from the shore skittering every which way. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes were bright with what seemed to be panic as he doubled over, hands grasping his knees. 

"James? What in the -?" 

James instead pointed to the sky, where the sun had nearly dipped below the horizon. "It's not safe to be out." 

Not safe... _"Oh_," Cedric breathed, blinking rapidly. "Oh bugger, I forgot - I mean in my fifth year, he was my teacher and then it was in the paper at the end of the year - oh, cock, I should have remembered that." James simply stared as Cedric quickly packed his things away into the worn bookbag Mrs. Potter had lent him, muttering under his breath as he did.

"Moony... he becomes a teacher?" 

"_That's_ what you take from this?" 

James grinned, his panicked expression fading into the exuberance Cedric had come to know so well. "Moony's always wanted to be a Professor. What subject?" 

It was so, so easy to fall into the teasing banter, and Cedric stood, bumping his shoulder against James'. "Reckon I should keep it a secret - it'd spoil the surprise." 

James huffed, but the small, lopsided smile remained on his face, and he rested his hand on Cedric's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Digsy? Thanks. I don't reckon people would be as understanding about his furry little problem as you've been. I'll tell him you're safe, shall I?" 

"James," Cedric said seriously, "He was the best teacher we ever had in that class. I learned so much from him - but even if I didn't, he's still just Remus, isn't he? It's not his fault." 

"No, it's not. We try to help, to make it easier, but... we can never _know_, y'know?

"How?" Cedric asked curiously, tilting his head. James' hand was still on his shoulder, not letting go. 

"Hmm?" James' brows furrowed, confusion etching his features. 

"Sorry," Cedric rushed out, "I just mean, how do you help him? Do you heal him? Is it a self-esteem thing?" 

James grinned, clarity reaching his eyes. "Can you keep a secret, Digsy?" 

Cedric scoffed. "I'm a time-travelling half-dead boy. _Yes_, I think I can keep a secret." He reached up to pat his hand over James', the boy startling as if he hadn't realised it still rested on Cedric's shoulder. 

"Er, yes, right. Well, I mean... oh, just take a look." James glanced around warily, and then where once the lanky boy was standing, a stag stood in his place - head bowed with the weight of magnificent, powerful antlers. 

"_Oh_," Cedric breathed; and without thinking, blurted, "You're _beautiful_." 

The stag brushed his nose against Cedric's hand with a soft click of it's teeth, and he ran his fingers up the nose to scratch at the spot between his eyes - like he might have one of his mother's horses. The hazel irises, so like James' own, were slowly being drowned out by widening black pupils - and he huffed a little more as Cedric dared to stroke down his neck. James-the-stag butted his hand a little harder, and tilted his head towards the castle. 

"Yes, right. Look after Moony and - and - oh, just stay safe yourself, alright?" 

Cedric cleared his throat and, not looking back, ran back towards the main doors - his heart racing from far more than the simple exertion. 

If he had, he might have seen the stag-turned-boy staring after him, a hand rubbing his neck and a wide grin spreading across his curiously flushed face.

_Blink._  
_Blink. _  
_Blink._

_ Blink, _and Cedric was very, very drunk. He was also incandescently happy. With the use of a very clever little map, some careful timing, and bollocks of steel, the Marauders managed to sneak him out into the hazy streets of Muggle London, clad in some interestingly cut jeans and very tight t-shirts. He had no complaints as he watched the form of James Potter’s arse clad in artfully distressed denim as he strode ahead towards the club he assured them he’d booked for the occasion. 

“Oi, Digsy!” Sirius hollered, standing on a table in the smoky club with James grasping at his ankles in an attempt to pull him back down. “Birthday shots!” 

“Oh God,” Remus, beside him, muttered as he glanced at Peter who was pushing his way through the throngs of writhing bodies. “This strikes me as a bad plan, Ced.” 

“C’mon, Rem - live a bit!” He grinned, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s hair despite his slightly unsteady attempts to dodge Cedric’s hand. 

“I’m living just fine tha- oh Merlin, he’s dancing on the table. Is he taking his shirt...? You know what? I think I’ll take that shot.” 

Peter, a tray in his hand, smirked and offered up a pale golden liquor in a flimsy plastic shot glass.

Shots, of course, led to dancing. A few girls made an attempt, but every time they did, James pulled him a little closer. The heat of the club misted up his glasses, and Cedric - boldened by an awful lot of something called tequila - slid them off his face and put them into James’ shirt pocket. James’ hands gripped his hips, drawing him so tightly against him that Cedric could feel every groove, every hard edge and flat plane of his body against his own. 

Cedric wasn’t sure who moved first - but they were tumbling through the toilet stall’s door and it slammed behind them with a fumbling hand that might have been his own. The tight confines of the public loo weren’t the most romantic, he noted as he was pushed back against the hastily locked door, but all semblance of thought fled when James’ lips collided with his. 

The pounding bass of the music reverberated in Cedric’s chest, and his pulse flitted and rose to meet it as his hands flew up to capture James’ face. His mouth warm and impossibly soft, his hands grasping at Cedric’s shoulders, sliding down to cup his arse in a way that was indecently delicious. 

“Fuck,” James breathed against his lips as Cedric’s hand reached down to smooth over the rapidly hardening bulge in his trousers, and moaned outright when Cedric - bravery fuelled by alcohol - dropped to his knees before him, and James anchored his hands in his hair. "I thought it was supposed to be _your_ birthday." He half-spoke, half-moaned. 

"Mmm, it is," Cedric murmured, and then neither of them spoke very much at all - decidedly thoroughly occupied. 

_ Blink, _ and they were in Transfiguration. James’ hand slid up his thigh with tantalising strokes, and Cedric hid his erection under his robes for the rest of the afternoon. Sirius kept making pointed jokes whenever it happened, and Remus frowned before smacking James firmly over the back of the head. 

“Do that shit in private, you arsehole!” 

James only grinned with pride, and Cedric couldn't really find it within himself to feel embarrassed. 

_ Blink, _ and James’ mouth was hot against his cock as Cedric cried out his release into the blessed peace of the private dormitory.

_ Blink_, and he was staring out of a chink in the heavy curtains of James’ dormitory as snow drifted and swirled in the dark. “Happy Christmas,” James murmured in his ear, his hand sliding up Cedric’s bare chest. 

Cedric mumbled his own response, tangling his fingers with James’ as they rested over his heart; but his mind was elsewhere. 

Six months. _ Less _ than six months - he’d slept through the stroke of midnight when the 24th ticked over into the 25th of December. 

* * *

  
_ In truths that she learned, or in times that he cried_  
_ In bridges he burned, or the way that she died_

Easter had been blissful. 

Cedric spent the break at the Potter manor with James and Sirius, Remus making an appearance on more days than he didn’t. The cloudless days seemed to grow warmer as each one passed, and were spent in a haze of cigarette smoke, pilfered Firewhisky, Quidditch, and token attempts at revision for their looming examinations. 

In amongst the joy of brotherhood Cedric had never known before were the stolen moments with James. The heated gazes, the hands darting out from shadows to grab wrists, the whispered suggestions. The sensation of hot breath against his throat, roaming lips, nipping teeth and dragging nails made him shiver; each action punctuated by sighs and hoarse cries. Then it was palms gripping and cupping backsides, fingers digging and stroking and probing and stripping clothes from taut bodies; the heat of mouths and tongues engulfing and sweeping and licking. The sweet agony of pulled hair, begging and pleading, and impending release. The pressure, formed from rolling hips and boiling blood and desperate moans, grew to a fever-pitch. And at last, the tang of sweat and cum mingling on swollen lips when it was over, with ragged breathing and sleepy declarations of perfection.

Because James was perfection - in every way a person could be perfect. 

“Cedric,” Dorea Potter approached him as he watched James and Sirius fly circles around each other in the sky in the final week of the break, a plate of sumptuous biscuits in one hand and a pot of tea in the other. “How are you, dear?” 

Cedric contemplated the answer, shrugging and drawing his lip between his teeth as she sat beside him at the wrought-iron patio table. She sighed as she examined his expression. “That good, hmm? Here, have a biscuit and a spot of tea.” 

Shoving the delightful shortbread into his mouth was much easier than answering, and he chewed as James and Sirius waved down at them - Dorea waving back at her sons. 

“Now,” Dorea began, a no-nonsense tone that mirrored his own mother’s as she clasped her hands elegantly before her - silvery-black hair spilling over her shoulder as her grey eyes scrutinised him. “I understand there’s some tricky business - Albus hinted as much. Wouldn’t say what it was, of course, but I’m not a silly woman. I know the Diggorys very well; your mother is a relation of mine, you know... if I have the right of it. Ah, I do.” 

Cedric’s face circled through various shades of pallor and flush as she spoke, and jumped a mile in the air as she patted his hand gently, lovingly. “I… you… You can’t say _ anything_, Mrs. Potter,” he begged, and she scoffed, sitting back in her chair so she could make herself a cup of tea. 

“Did I not just say that I‘m not a foolish woman?” She scolded, and Cedric cringed. “Time magic is a tricky beast - no-one really knows how it should work when someone pops up where they shouldn’t be. There’s a reason the Department of Mysteries employs Unspeakables to look at the matter very thoroughly. And yet… they’ve no interest in _ you_. So there’s more than time magic at play, isn’t there?” 

Cedric didn’t know what to say so simply nodded, and Dorea sighed in understanding as she sipped from the steaming china cup in her hands. They sat quietly for a while, watching James and Sirius play around with the Snitch, until Cedric felt a question bubble up in his chest. “What do you think happens when we die?” 

Dorea placed the cup back on her saucer, pity etched on her delicate features. “Oh, my dear boy,” she said sadly, and reached out again to take his hand in her slim one. “Death is the last great mystery - but there _ is _something beyond that veil. The brief time we spend on this plane is not the final adventure and our story does not end, I’m certain.” 

Cedric didn’t realise he was crying until Dorea Potter reached out to brush away the damp tracks that formed on his cheeks. “I’m going to die soon,” he choked out, a sob catching in his throat as the admission broke free from his lips at last. 

“Do my boys know?” She asked, and he nodded once as he doubled over on himself, fighting the heave of his shoulders and the hot tears burning in his eyes. “Then there’s nothing else you can do but live, my dear. Death comes for us all, one day - but we cannot wait around for His embrace. And when it does come they will mourn, and then they will celebrate, and they will find happiness again. So is grief’s nature - so is Death’s.” Dorea stood to kneel by him, running a hand over his back in soothing circles. “And your death will not be the only one they know in this lifetime, dear child. There’s a darkness coming; we all see it, and do what we can to prepare for it - but it is coming nonetheless.” 

“I want to - there’s so much I could - so much I _ know_,” Cedric raised his head, staring into her eyes, but she shook her head. 

“Everything will be as it will be. You could outline the future word by word, and it would still unfold regardless - albeit, perhaps, in a different way, or a different order. You can’t change the world, Cedric Diggory - but you can make your time meaningful. And I think you already have.” 

She stood, tilting her face up to find where James and Sirius soared - too high to have seen what transpired on the terrace far below them - and smiled. “They will be fine, Cedric. Now, for goodness’ sake, go and enjoy your time.” 

Cedric grabbed his broom from the wall, where it leaned untouched for most of the day,at her behest and shot into the sky. But as he played, he couldn’t stop thinking - couldn’t stop staring at their faces, the guilt eating him alive; knowing about what was to come, and knowing that no matter what he did it would always conclude in the same painfully tragic way.

When James tried to sneak into his bedroom that night, he rolled over in the bed to face away from the door, leaving it firmly locked. Cedric ignored the painful clenching of his heart when he heard the boy sigh dejectedly, rest his head on the door with a thud, and eventually slink away down the corridor.

* * *

_It's time now to sing out_  
Though the story never ends  
_ Let's celebrate, remember a year  
__In the life of friends_

It started so slowly that at first, Cedric wasn’t sure if it was just him having a piss-poor memory. He forgot the little things - the first charms and transfigurations he’d ever learned, the first potion he brewed. It took him longer to complete the shortest of homework tasks, and he sometimes forgot what he needed to take with him to lessons. 

Cedric assumed it was the pressure of NEWTs, at first; but then he forgot his own father. 

“Shit,” he muttered, pacing back and forth in front of one of the greenhouses, taking a long drag of the cigarette he’d nicked from Sirius’ pack. “Buggering, arseing shit.” 

His grandfather said he’d know when his time to return was coming close - but he cursed the man as he understood truly what it meant. Cedric was a shade - not a real person, but not a dead one either; someone living in-between the worlds. And he’d have to go back to the one he belonged to.

He wandered back towards the Hufflepuff common room in a dissociative haze, only habit and years of walking those corridors guiding his feet. Polite greetings met him, but he waved them off with a forced smile - heading into his dormitory to collapse on his bed, eyes trained on the ceiling. 

“Hey, Ced? Potter’s at the door to see you.” A 5th-year Prefect by the name of Davey Boot poked his head around the door. 

Cedric moved to get up but flopped back down instead, waving his hand tiredly. “Tell him I’m not feeling well.” 

Davey looked skeptical, but nodded and shut the door to the 7th-year dormitory - the soft click final and damning. Cedric hated himself a little more as he rolled over and screamed himself hoarse into his pillow.

“Er - Ced? There’s more of them at the door, and they’ve said they’re going to just come in if you don’t talk to them.” The same boy called through the door not five minutes later, and Cedric swore. 

“Fine,” Cedric snapped, and stormed through the common room, vaulting out of the barrel and colliding with the three boys that waited beyond it. 

“Digsy, what’s going on?” Sirius asked. 

“A time-thing,” Cedric said, voice clipped as he marched out towards the grounds. 

"That won't fucking cut it!" James snarled, and Cedric turned on him outside the greenhouses he'd paced before earlier.

“I forgot my dad’s name, okay? I know I _ have _ a dad, but who he is? I can’t _ remember._ It’s bloody starting! I can’t even remember that spell - that one you first learn - the one that makes things float!”

“Wingardium leviosa?” Remus offered gently, but it was entirely the wrong thing for him to say as Cedric exploded, storming back and forth along the grass. 

“Probably! But I can’t remember what it is! I can’t let you stand around and watch me forget you all one by one. It’s not fair. You just need to - you need to move on with your lives and pretend I never existed.”

_ Move on and… something. Something will happen to all of you and I can’t remember what_, Cedric’s mind screamed, but he couldn’t say the words. Couldn’t make them emerge on the tip of his tongue. 

He tried to go - tried to leave, but a hand grabbed his wrist tightly and he was pulled into a hug, arms wrapping around him - then another pair, and another, until he was engulfed from all sides by the Marauders. “You’re not going anywhere,” James spoke into his neck, the words muffled. 

“I’ll forget you,” Cedric warned, and he felt a lump form in his throat when each boy answered in turn. 

“We’ll remind you, then,” Remus said simply. 

“‘Course we will, right Prongs?” 

“Damn right,” James swore, and in the huddle of arms, James kissed him. 

It was the last time Cedric would allow him to.

_Blink, _ and Cedric forgot how to get into his common room - Remus gently reminded him each and every time. Cedric began to resent him for it, only to be hit over the back of the head and told not to behave like an utter arsehole. 

Cedric let Remus help him after that without a word of complaint, even though it ate him up to see his ever-patient expression and small smile when he managed to knock on the correct barrel in the correct way each time. 

_Blink, _ and Sirius grabbed his hand in a panic before he could walk outside on the night of a full moon. 

"But _why_?" Cedric begged. He knew this must be one of those things - one of those things that was important and he should know, but that was disappearing from his mind like water through a sieve. Panic, fear, self-loathing flooded him, and he turned on the boy with a desperate pleading in his voice. "I don't know why!" 

"Because Moony is called Moony for a _reason_, mate. And unless you want to make your eventual demise a much more pressing concern, you probably want to stay in the castle, yeah?" Sirius pushed his thick black hair away from his face with a sigh. 

_What did Sirius mea- _"Oh, fuck. He's a -" the realisation dawned, and Sirius huffed - maybe with relief, but he wasn't entirely sure. 

"_Yes_, Digsy, Remus is distinctly lunar-challenged. You _know_ this, remember?" The boy pleaded, but Cedric felt himself deflate. 

"No, I _don't _remember," He snapped, and stormed back into the castle towards the dungeons without looking back. 

When he woke, Cedric had no recollection of the conversation he had with Sirius, though he knew he'd had one; instead, only a vague recollection regarding moons lingered in the back of his mind. Maybe they'd been talking about Remus? Or was it potions ingredients?

He hated himself all the more when Sirius dropped by at breakfast to apologise, only to realise that Cedric couldn't remember at all what they'd spoken about. The boy had looked devastated, and Cedric felt nausea bubble up in his throat so fast he thought he might be sick right there at the Hufflepuff dining table. He punched a wall so hard on the way out of the Great Hall that he ended up in the hospital wing with two broken knuckles. At least he could remember _that_. 

_Blink, _and he was writing words he didn’t understand on an exam paper, knowing he would probably fail it. Peter commiserated with him and agreed that he probably had, too, and Cedric forgot why he was supposed to feel sick around the mousy boy.

_ Blink, _ and he held up a hand each time James tried to kiss him, feeling his heart shatter a little more each time, until it no longer hurt to do so because he couldn’t remember why he was doing it in the first place.

The last time James tried to kiss him, Cedric had been so startled it was happening that the boy before him seemed to visibly break. 

"It's okay, Digsy. I know it's not your fault," James said, but Cedric could see the lie beneath it. See the pain in the warm hazel eyes, the tears dancing along the lower lashes, the hoarseness of the words as if he was struggling to get them out. 

Cedric wept as the boy left the greenhouses where he had taken to hiding, but he didn't know why - nor why his heart felt like it was breaking. 

_Blink, _ and James watched Cedric throw his wand on the ground in frustration, shaking his head miserably before taking the hand of a girl with flaming red hair. 

"I don't know what to do to help him," Cedric heard the boy mutter, dejected, as he sat on the ground, his head in his hands. 

"I... I'm not sure you can, James. I'm sorry. Maybe you shouldn't have... I mean, if you _knew_ this was going to happen..."

"Don't finish that sentence. Just - just _don't_, Lily." James hissed, and instead of lingering near the girl named Lily, he came to sit down next to Cedric. 

"Alright, mate?" He said with forced cheer, taking out a small golden ball from his pocket to toss in the air, and his stomach twisted. 

_Did he know what that ball was? _ Cedric knew he should. Knew it was vitally important to him - somehow. 

But he didn't.

"Don't pretend it's okay. It's not," Cedric snapped, and James instead rested a hand on his shoulder - it was oddly comforting, to feel the warmth and heaviness ground him when everything inside him felt like it was spinning apart. 

"We're with you all the way, mate. We promised." 

Cedric placed his hand over James' and squeezed. 

_Blink. _  
_ Blink.   
Blink. _

_ Blink, _ and he was in an orchard he didn’t remember, with faces he only vaguely knew. “There’s somewhere I need to go.” 

The words were hesitant at first, quieter than he’d intended. Two boys were chucking a ball back and forth - what was it called? He knew it had a name - it was red and leathery. He was certain he’d seen it before. Another interesting boy with dark hair sat under a tree, holding a girl in his arms with a soft smile on his face. A fourth, scarred, read a heavy old book.

No-one listened, but he needed to go. He had somewhere to be. 

He knew there were wards on the property - whose property it was, he wasn’t entirely certain. He just needed to walk a little - somewhere down that lane, he thought, and then he just needed to… 

He turned on the spot and pictured the place. He didn’t know precisely what he was doing, but he knew it was the right thing when he emerged in a great, cold amphitheatre. Down rows of deep stone steps was an arch - standing alone and supported by nothing - and hanging from it was a gauzy black veil, moving of its own volition in the still room. 

This was what had been calling to him all day - whispered voices drawing him closer. 

He climbed down the steps, entranced. 

“Cedric! Ced, stop! You don’t have to do this!”

Cedric? What was a Cedric? 

Was that his name? 

He stepped towards the archway - mesmerised by the way it fluttered and danced. There was another tug in his chest, drawing him further forward to the sheer material. He wondered if it would be nice to touch, to rub between his fingers. 

“Cedric, please!” A voice begged - it sounded like they were sad. 

Why were they sad? 

He turned around and saw a dark-haired boy, with skewed glasses and messy hair racing towards him down the great steps of the amphitheater surrounding the archway. He was followed by another boy with long dark waves, one with sandy hair and constellations of freckles and scars, and another - slight and mousy, lingering behind them with a curious expression on his face. He didn’t look sad or scared or angry, like the other three did. 

Good. He knew he was doing the right thing - why would this veil call to him otherwise? 

“I’ve got to go,” he said, offering what he hoped was a smile. Smiles were good, weren’t they? 

“Digsy, don’t be a dick - you don’t have to!” The long-haired one cried, but he shook his head. The long-haired boy didn’t understand; he _ couldn’t _ understand. Something had never called to him so strongly, a desire so all-encompassing and driving that you had to heed the summoning. 

“I do, don’t you see? The voices - they’re… calling me.” He gestured towards the gossamer with flickering, tempted fingers. 

All he had to do was touch it. 

“No!” The one in the glasses sobbed, trying to reach out to him, and he felt an ache in his chest so different to the one calling him towards the fluttering void. Had he been important to him? Had he been important to this Cedric?

“Be happy; I am,” he told the boy sincerely, and with one hand, reached out to touch the black. 

“Ced, _ please,_ I love…” 

He was gone before the warm, rough fingers could grasp him. 

* * *

_You got to, you got to remember the love_  
_You know that love is a gift from up above_  
_ Share love, give love, spread love_

The moment between the flash of green from the man’s wand and the next when he was dead was an eternity, and yet no time at all. But this time there were no silvery plains, no elderly grandfather to offer him a choice - a chance. 

Cedric remembered - as suddenly as he’d forgotten. He sobbed once, a hand coming to his chest, to grasp his throat. Memories. _ So _many memories. He’d had his year - just as he’d been promised - to the very day. 

Yet he didn’t cross over. Or at least, not as he’d expected to. His grandmother wasn’t waiting with open arms with his grandfather by her side, leaning against his stick. The golden crup they’d had when he was a little boy wasn’t waiting for him, tails wagging and tongue prepared to smother him in kisses. No warm hearth and a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and grated dark chocolate. Instead he felt… tethered. Bound by something he couldn’t recognise. He was no longer present in his body, present in the graveyard, and yet… 

He existed in a space in-between living and dying; between heartbeats and breaths in the physical world, and in the stillness of whatever came after. He lingered in the grey - time could have been seconds or years and Cedric wouldn’t have known - suspended in nothing, walking on mists. 

Minutes or days might have passed, and then darkness swarmed: black on black in an impossibly inky shadow. But from the depths of the dark, a light grew until it blinded him.

The outstretched hand of James Potter gestured to him, warm hazel eyes twinkling behind the wire frames perched on his nose. 

He’d barely aged in the moments between Cedric’s first breath in the other time and when he took his last in the graveyard. It’d surely been fifteen years, if not longer - and his eyes still held the sparkle of youth, no lines aged his face, no silvery hairs were making their first attempts to refine him. 

“You look the same,” Cedric murmured, his fingers reaching out - not quite touching, but the fizz of magic still danced over the hairs that raised on the back of his hand. 

“Can’t age when you’re dead, right?” His eyes shone in that irritating, marvellous way, and his lips quirked in a lopsided smile.

Cedric rolled his eyes. “I know! I mean… I expected you to look so much older; as a dad, y’know?.” 

“I was twenty-one,” James’ eyes darted out somewhere into the black, his brows creasing only slightly, as if he were distracted by something Cedric himself couldn’t perceive. Still, he couldn’t help but think of the man - little more than a boy - who he remembered now had loved him.

“No age to go,” Cedric felt the empty platitude escape his mouth, and his lips twisted in a grimace. 

“Seventeen is even less of one.” James’ face was tender, focussed on him once more. _ So fucking handsome, _Cedric thought without an ounce of shame.

“At least I got to be eighteen once.” 

“True - and it was a proper good one too. Well, what I can remember of it - that Muggle stuff was bloody evil.” 

Cedric felt a grin creep up at James’ grimace. “I’ll never forget it - the shots, the sodding awful dancing, the joy, the bathroom -” 

“Merlin, that _ bathroom _,” James moaned, lips parted slightly. If Cedric still had a pulse, he was certain it would be racing. 

Their hands still hadn’t met. There was nothing at all and a whole sea in the space between James’ ruddy, work-hardened hands and his own ones - smooth but for the littering of tiny scars from potions and the Tournament. 

“I suppose I’m really dead now?” Cedric asked after a moment, his eyes never moving from James’ face. 

“Reckon so. Don’t think I’d be here if you weren’t, and I’m definitely _ dead-dead,_” James laughed outright, and Cedric felt his own bubbling chuckle rise in his chest, before swallowing it down as quickly as it came. 

“I… James. I’m sorry - so sorry. I was a _ horror _ to you all. To _ you_. I didn’t realise - I never _ meant _to…” he tried to speak, tried to form the words that simply couldn’t convey all he was feeling. 

“I know. I saw, after Voldemort...” He drew a sinister slash across his throat, somehow making the action look comedic. “We could watch sometimes. It was whatever spell brought you to us, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah, reckon it was.” 

James smiled - soft and sad. “I got Lily in the end, didn’t I? And if it wasn’t you, I was glad it was her. She’s a good person, and Harry - he was a miracle. He _ is _ a miracle.” 

She was, and Cedric was oddly at peace knowing James still found love in the girl he’d, by all accounts, adored for most of his childhood. “He tried to - he would have saved me, I think.” 

And then he heard it, a soft whisper on the wind - the same one that distracted James, Cedric realised. 

_ “Avada -” _

_ “ - Expelliarmus!” _

Two familiar voices - one haunting and high, one in equal parts angry and fearful.

“We’ve got a job to do, Digsy.” 

James’ warm hazel eyes met Cedric’s, and their hands finally clasped. Soft and smooth met chapped and cracked. For one last moment, they were gloriously, wondrously alive. 

_ Measure your life, measure your life in love _


End file.
